


many happy returns

by thisissirius



Category: Emmerdale
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-07
Updated: 2017-06-07
Packaged: 2018-11-10 07:39:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,465
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11122755
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thisissirius/pseuds/thisissirius
Summary: Robert’s having a so-so birthday.in which robert has a birthday, and aaron loves his husband





	many happy returns

**Author's Note:**

> written for my wife, claudia, because she deserves the world :)

Robert’s having a so-so birthday. 

He has to work, because apparently Nicola doesn’t count “wanting to spend the day with my sexy husband” as a reason not to turn up. Though, if Robert were married to Jimmy, he wouldn’t either. He pouts and whines and moans, but it’s not like he’d trust her or Jimmy with the meetings on the books, especially the Stevenson account - the guy is gross with women and Robert might be a dick sometimes, but he’s not _that_  guy. 

Spending the day schmoozing clients when he could be still in bed with Aaron wrapped around him is bad enough, but it gets worse when he hits traffic on the M65 and ends up gridlocked. _Wonderful_.

Picking his phone up from the dash, Robert thumbs through to Aaron’s number. 

“You home yet?” 

“I wish,” Robert says, letting his frustration bleed through. There’s something about hearing Aaron’s voice that makes everything calmer. He wants to be home desperately, wants to be able to curl up with Aaron on their sofa, listen to Liv whining about her homework, and watching shit television until it’s time to go to bed. 

(He hopes, vaguely, there are presents in there somewhere, but they’re not a necessity to the happiness of his evening.)

“Where are ya?” Aaron says, sounding breathless. 

“What are you doing?” Robert asks instead, tapping his fingers idly on the steering wheel. The car in front creeps forward inches at most. 

Aaron doesn’t answer for a moment. “Working.”

Robert looks at the clock on his dash. _16:39_. “Thought you’d be done by now.”

“You can come pick me up,” Aaron tells him, and Robert hears the crash of metal in the background. 

“Can’t,” he says, reluctantly. There’s a little movement and he knows he really shouldn’t, but he drives the car forward. “I’m stuck on the M65.”

“Shit,” Aaron curses. “How long?”

“Dunno. Haven’t checked, called you first.”

Aaron lets out a slow breath. “Get home soon, alright?”

“You want me to grab dinner?” Robert rolls his head against the back of the seat, desperately wishes he could shift the traffic on will alone. 

“No.” There’s the slam of the door and Robert hears Adam’s familair tone. “No, I’m going home.” Then, to Robert. “Don’t worry about it. We’ll sort it when you’re home.”

“Love you,” Robert says. 

“Love you too,” Aaron says, easy, and it’s a testament to how far they’ve come that he’s saying it in _front_  of someone - when they’re not standing at an altar at the same time. 

Robert hangs up the phone, tossing it on the seat next to him. There’s an eighties song filtering out of the radio and he sighs, waits for the traffic to let up enough to actually get home and see his husband. 

 

 

 

When Robert finally pulls into the Mill driveway, he’s bone tired, wants to kill Nicola, and hungry. 

Unlocking the door with one hand, he tosses his bag by the hall cabinet. His shoes are left in a pile on the floor - he’ll face Aaron’s wrath later. “Aaron?”

The living room lights are on, and the dining room table is covered in food; Robert can smell his mother’s lasagna, garlic bread, and see the bowls of salad. Aaron’s leaning against one of the chairs, cheeks red, eyebrows raised. 

“Aaron,” Robert says again, this time as breathless as he feels. 

Aaron shrugs, like it’s no big deal, but Robert closes the distance between them, tugs Aaron into a hug. Burying his face in Aaron’s neck, Robert breathes deep, relishes the fact that he’s _home_  and that Aaron did all this for him. 

“I love you,” he says. 

Aaron’s arms tighten around his shoulders, and he presses a kiss to Robert’s temple. “I love you too. Dinner?”

Robert’s stomach chooses that moment to rumble. “Sounds - and smalles - great.”

“I stole the recipe from Vic,” Aaron admits, as they tuck into the food. It’s not the same as his mum’s, Robert notes, but it’s close enough, _better_ , because it’s Aaron and he actually cooked. 

“She gave it up willingly?”

“You’d be surprised what she’d do for you,” Aaron tells him. 

It throws Robert a little, but he recovers, stares down at his food.

“Hey,” Aaron says, reaching for Robert’s hand. Curling their fingers together, he squeezes gently. “Happy birthday.”

“Yeah,” Robert says. He frowns. “Liv not joining us?”

Aaron snorts, takes a bite of garlic bread. “She scarpered as soon as she saw what I was cooking. Didn’t wanna barf, apparently.”

“Good,” Robert says decisively, though a small part is sad he won’t see her. “Means I get you all to myself.”

“You always do.”

It knocks Robert again, and sometimes he still doesn’t believe he has this, Aaron, who’s so willing to say things like that. Robert’s heart skips. “Is there dessert?”

“You haven’t even finished yet.” Aaron looks pointedly down at Robert’s half-full plate. He has his tongue in his cheek, though, so Robert knows he gets Robert’s meaning. 

Robert shakes his head. “So if I finish it, you’ll give me dessert?”

Aaron pretends to think about it. “So you don’t want your present then?”

“Not if I have to sacrifice fucking you,” Robert says, honestly. 

It’s Aaron’s turn to flush, and his mouth quirks up. “I’ll take it back then.”

“Well,” Robert says with a shrug. “You could just give it to me _then_ take me to bed.”

 

 

 

Aaron carries the gift down from upstairs, something covered in a blanket. 

Robert raises his eyebrow. “What’s in there?”

“The point of a gift,” Aaron says, resting the box on the table. “Is that it’s a surprise you discover for yourself.”

Robert gives him a withering look, but bites. Tugging off the blanket, he stares into the box and feels his chest tighten. “Aaron.”

Aaron’s searching his face, eyes dark. “It’s okay?”

Inside the box, giving Robert the most heartbreaking doe eyes he’s ever seen, is a persian cat, all fur and squished nose. There’s a scar running down its left eye, but as soon as it meows at him, Robert’s gone. 

“Where did you find it?”

“Him,” Aaron says, clearly relieved that he didn’t get it wrong. “I got him from the shelter. Vic helped pick him out. Said you always loved persian cats.”

Robert reaches into the box carefully, brushes a hand over the soft fur. The cat starts to purr, stretching up into Robert’s hand. He picks him up carefully, sets him on his lap. “Why’d you get me a cat?”

“You kept moaning we needed a pet.” Aaron says it nonchalantly, but Robert knows him better. He’d filed away Robert’s want for a cat the same way he does everything else, surprising Robert with how much he remembers, how much he _cares_. 

“But you don’t like them.”

“Not particularly,” Aaron says, though he does reach over and stroke the cat gently. “But now I have leverage to get a dog.”

“Not with a cat in the house!” Robert protests.

Aaron smiles smugly. “He’s used to having a dog companion. Just humans that did this,” he says, gesturing at the scar.

“I see your motives,” Robert says, but he can’t bring himself to object anymore. He reaches over, tangles in Aaron’s hair and pulls him in for a kiss. The cat yowls, objecting to being ignored, and Robert laughs. “Wow. Someone’s monopolosing.”

“I didn’t plan on that,” Aaron admits, though he rests his hand on the back of Robert’s neck, strokes the hairs at the nape of Robert’s neck. “The RSPCA called him Freckles.”

Robert stares down at the tri-colour beauty in his lap. “That is a terrible name.”

“So?” Aaron prompts, kissing Robert’s neck. “What are you gonna call him?”

“I’ll think of something.” Robert wants to sleep on it; it’s gonna have to be good.

“So it’s an alright gift then?” Aaron asks, and though his expression is calm, Robert knows it’s a genuine question, that he’s worried.

Robert looks up at Aaron, the husband who knows him better than he knows himself, who constantly surprises him, loves him in ways he doesn’t know how to handle. He shouldn’t worried about anything where Robert is concerned; shouldn’t be worried that he could mess it up, or be anything less than the person Robert loves with his whole heart, his whole _self_. 

“It’s perfect,” Robert says, forehead pressed to Aaron’s. “Just like you.”

“Shut up,” Aaron tells him, but accepts the kiss, the arm around his neck. 

“I mean it,” Robert says, voice heavy with emotion. The cat gets bored and jumps off of Robert’s lap to prowl the living room. “I don’t deserve you.”

“Yes you do,” Aaron says, like he always does. “Happy birthday, Robert.”

Robert’s heart skips as Aaron kisses him again, deep and full and _everything_.

**Author's Note:**

> find me on tumblr; [here](http://sapphicsugden.tumblr.com)


End file.
